Lord of the Munchkins
by Seth Connelly
Summary: Saruman, due to a lack of things to do, decided to make his quest for the One Ring a little less difficult by casting a spell to turn all of Middle-earth into children.
1. Prologue

Lord of the Munchkins  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or places or anything of the sort, but Ruby and Talis are the creations of a friend and myself, so there.  
  
Prologue  
  
Saruman sat and stared into the black oblivion of the Palantìr. "There is nothing worth watching," he muttered, picking up a small rectangular gadget and pressing a button. "Destruction." Click. "Destruction." Click. "The beginning of some destruction." Click. "The doom of some unimportant town." Click. "Death." Click. "Ooo. March Madness."  
  
His servant Wormtongue dashed up the stairs to answer his master's calls a few minutes later. He burst into the room, huffing and puffing from the effort ascending the stairs.  
  
"Popcorn!" the old wizard demanded.  
  
Wormtongue nodded his round, knobby head.  
  
"If UC loses," Saruman continued, "I will give up on the whole 'Ring' issue."  
  
He nodded again and said, "Master, if you were not informed of this earlier, the Ring has been found. By a Halfling, sir."  
  
Saruman roared with melodic laughter. "A Halfling!"  
  
"It is true, sir! You may even consult the Palantìr. Oh, and perhaps that Gollum creature may know a thing or two."  
  
"Then let us waste no time!" Saruman stood, draping a cloth over the Palantìr. "No one shall stand in our way." And with that, he stormed out of the room and up the stairs to the top of Orthanc. He then chanted:  
  
Dark Lord of the South, give me the power  
  
To have all of Middle-earth in the palm of my hand  
  
Within the hour  
  
If this call, you will not heed,  
  
then may you choke to death on a sunflower seed!"  
  
Wormtongue, who had arrived early enough to hear this outrageously stupid spell, said, "Uh, sir"—  
  
"I know, I know. That was lame. But I made it up off of the top of my head."  
  
"No, no. The party guests are here."  
  
"WOOT!" 


	2. The Shire 101

Chapter One: The Shire 101  
  
Disclaimer: Same as always. Check the Prologue if you either don't remember, or you actually care that much.  
  
Author's notes: Okay, for any of you who read this right when it was posted, there was a Mary-Sue in it named Ruby. I took her out. *blink* Just for the sake of keeping this as close to the movie/book as possible.. No more rambling.  
  
"Hey, Frodo, think fast!" shouted Pippin as he chucked a rather large stone at the unsuspecting hobbit, beaning him in the forehead.  
  
"OW! For the love of Bob!" cried Frodo as he stumbled backwards, flailing his arms, and then landing on his tush in a pile of autumn leaves.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" Samwise Gamgee shouted in distress.  
  
"I'm all right, I'm all right," Frodo Baggins said as he stood, a red welt appearing on his forehead.  
  
"That just goes to show how bad Frodo is at thinking," Pippin said with a grin as he folded his arms. He felt the blow of a pebble hit the back of his head. "Meriadoc Brandybuck. You will pay for that!" he yelled as Merry ran off to plan a new mode of attack. Sam just pointed and laughed.  
  
It was late September, and the Ring had been with Frodo for only one week. He was down in the dumps because of Bilbo's departure the previous week, and he had been sulking all day. Little did he know, his semi-happy and untroubled life was about to change dramatically. Right about… now.  
  
Ten minutes after Saruman cast his spell, it took affect on all of Middle-earth, save Mordor and any country under Sauron's growing power. Every living thing from Eagles to Wargs were turned into juveniles.  
  
"I'm little!" Pippin said, bawling.  
  
"Well, this is certainly curious," said Merry, folding one arm across his chest and resting his head in his hand, a thoughtful look crossing his face.  
  
"I feel… short," Sam said, looking at his hands for some weird reason.  
  
"I wish Gandalf were here," Frodo sniffled.  
  
  
  
"HAHA!" Saruman cackled. "Look at them! They are even smaller than before!" He pointed and laughed at the images in the Palantìr. "It is almost too easy to simply snatch the Ring away from some creature so little!" His laughter suddenly stopped and he glared at the floor, contemplating silently. He recalled his boredom with everything, and came up with yet another "brilliant" idea. "Yes, it IS too easy. Perhaps if I shrink my Orc army, it will lengthen the time of war and give me something to do." And so he chanted his idiotic chant again, and his wish was granted. He then proceeded to throw another Tupperware party. To the guests' dismay, there was no stripper this time. Not enough time to schedule one, you know.  
  
  
  
Things were not looking good for the hobbits back in the Shire. Slowly, their shrunken brains were converting to that of a five-year-old. That night, the hobbits met at Bag End to have a meeting. Or to play a sporting game of Chutes and Ladders--no, no. A meeting.  
  
Frodo began. "We are gathered here today to"—  
  
"Bake cookies!" cried the others.  
  
"Yes! Wait, no! Talk about the odd happenings, and THEN bake cookies."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So, anyway"—the front door opened. The candles and the fire suddenly went out.  
  
Everyone screamed girlishly and clung to one another. A gray figure, far taller than all of them, stalked into the room.  
  
"The Boogie Man!" the hobbits screamed in horror, diving under the table.  
  
"Oh, shut up." The fireplace burst into flames, illuminating the stranger's face. It was Gandalf. "Damn special effects turned off all the lights." The wizard was now 15, tall, and very thin. His face was patched with acne, he wore bold-framed glasses that were bound together in the middle by string. A metal contraption was in his mouth, dotting his teeth with silver things unknown to any being of the Shire. "Now," his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, "Frodo, do you still have the Ring?"  
  
"Uhm.." Frodo smiled innocently. "Do you have a cookie?"  
  
Gandalf's brow lowered in annoyance. "This is a serious matter, not to be taken lightly. Master Baggins, get me the Ring!"  
  
Frodo pouted and went over to an old trunk in the corner. After digging for about a minute, he produced a small, white envelope. He gave it to Gandalf, who then tossed it into the fireplace.  
  
"What'cha doin'?" asked Frodo, bewildered.  
  
Gandalf was silent. He took the little clippy things, as Sam would call them, and extracted the Ring from the burning remains of its envelope. He dropped it into Frodo's hand, and he let out a small yelp, immediately dropping it.  
  
"You idiot! It is quite cool!" Gandalf snapped.  
  
"No it's noooot!" Frodo cried, waving his burnt hand.  
  
So Gandalf picked it up again with the TONGS and looked at it. "Markings," he muttered, cursing.  
  
"Ooo. What do they say?" asked the hobbits, except for Frodo who had managed to shove his hand into his mouth.  
  
"The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here," with a sentence as boring as that, the hobbits, having attention spans of a flea, tuned out. Gandalf explained a ton of stuff. He was staring off into space as he explained, and didn't even notice that the hobbits had placed a "Kick me" sign on his back, and baked cookies. Anyway, we all know what he's talking about so there's no reason for me to type it out, although this paragraph would have probably been equivalent to the explanation, and if I don't stop rambling it will be longer.  
  
Gandalf turned his attention back to the hobbits. "There is only one thing that can be done." By this time, the hobbits were able to sit down at the table again and pretend that they were listening. "You all must leave the Shire."  
  
"Why not just Frodo? He's the one with the stupid Ring!" Pippin whined.  
  
"You losers have nothing else to do with your meager lives. Therefore, I force you to go," said Gandalf. The four hobbits moaned.  
  
They packed. Items ranged from pieces of two week old bread to rubber duckies. As for the rest of it, you can use your imaginations.  
  
  
  
Early that next morning before the sun had even begun to rise, each hobbit felt the stroke of Gandalf's staff as a wake up call. Not very pleasant for them, having stayed up late and worrying about the long journey that lay before them. They got up and got dressed, and then followed Gandalf to the outskirts of Hobbiton to begin their travel.  
  
"I'm hungry," Pippin moaned.  
  
"Too bad," Sam said.  
  
"Where are we going, again?" Frodo asked, his eye twitching for some odd reason.  
  
"Bree, you idiot. To The Prancing Pony. It's due east from here."  
  
"Then we have to travel through the Old Forest," Merry winced.  
  
Gandalf thought for a moment. "Nah. Let us go by the movie plot."  
  
"The.. movie… plot?" the hobbits asked.  
  
"Oh. Uh, never mind that. Follow me."  
  
And so, with Gandalf's magical knowledge of the future movie, they were able to find a shortcut to Bree and totally bypass the Old Forest.  
  
"And now I must depart," Gandalf said, "There are urgent matters to the south. Remember, stay off the roads. Cut across country. And, Frodo, your name sucks flaming donkey balls and you need a new one."  
  
"I know, I know! Frankenstein!"  
  
"No. That is even stupider. It shall be Underhill because I say so and I am older and I know more than you."  
  
So with those final words, that they most likely ignored, the hobbits bid the wizard a fond farewell. "I'm glad he's gone. He was a El Poo Butto," Pippin said as Gandalf rode away on his horse. And, yes, he did indeed have a horse. Did you not notice?  
  
All except Frodo nodded in agreement. Frodo had his back turned to the others and was staring at something. His eyes narrowed slightly and he gripped his hands into fists.  
  
"What crawled up his butt and died?" Merry muttered to Sam.  
  
"Get off the road," Frodo said quietly.  
  
Pippin had sat down beside the road and were stuffing their faces with mushrooms. "What? Why?"  
  
"There's something down there." There was a loud screech and the thumping of horse hooves. The hobbits proceeded to run around in triangles, screaming. They were indeed in deep do-do. 


	3. Social Grooming

Lord of the Munchkins  
  
Chapter Two: Social Grooming  
  
Author's notes: Sorry about the wait, for all who care. x.x Um, enjoy! And thanks for all the reviews. All who review get a free pat on the back and a complementary rubber chicken… at some point in time.  
  
  
  
The hobbits gained control of themselves and dove off the road. They grouped together under the cover of a tree's visible roots.  
  
In a few moments a rider cloaked in black, but not very tall, on an armored black foal rode up and stopped beside the tree. Sam wet his pants. Frodo jumped into Sam's lap, and immediately jumped back to his original place of sitting. Pippin clung to a tree root for dear life. And Merry fell asleep. The Rider sniffed (but soon regretted it, thanks to Sam) and rode away. The hobbits jumped up and ran like the dickens to their desired destination. They had had the bejeebus scared out of them (and in Sam's case, more), and wished to arrive at Bree by nightfall. They were afraid of the dark, after all.  
  
It started to rain around noon. This led to a lot of griping and moaning from the weary travelers. Which led to a great annoyance to the author, who decided to let them arrive in Bree in the next paragraph.  
  
By sundown they approached the West Gate of Bree. The four of them started banging on the door with all of their "hobbit might," which really wasn't much, but was enough to arouse the dozing eleven year old gate keeper. He opened the lower peephole and gazed at the newcomers. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"  
  
"Shssh," said Frodo, who stood in front, "Be vewy, vewy quiet. We'wre hunting wabbits!"  
  
"Oh, really? That's nice. But you won't find none of them here."  
  
Merry whacked Frodo upside the head. "We're only passing through and wish to spend the night at the Prancing Pony." Amazingly, Merry still held at least an ounce of his former intellect.  
  
To make a long story short, the hobbits entered Bree and ran past the same pony corral multiple times before finally realizing it, and eventually found the Prancing Pony.  
  
"'Ello!" waved a short, fat child carrying a tray of mugs. "What can I do for ya?"  
  
"Is Gandalf the Grey here?" asked Merry, just as Frodo was opening his mouth to ask for a bedtime story to be read to him.  
  
"Nope. Haven't seen that git in six months. Go sit over there and I'll get ya something to drink. Oh, and the name's Butterbur."  
  
So they shuffled to an empty table and laid their soiled cloaks on the floor. They were served cookies and milk and they happily ate and talked. Pippin got on a sugar high and started running around asking people about how many boogers they had eaten in the past week.  
  
"Five, say you? My cousin--two times removed--Frodo Baggins has eaten more than that in a DAY!" Pippin rambled. "Where is he? Over there!" Pippin pointed at Frodo and the others.  
  
"Ack! Pippin, no!" Frodo cried. "My name is Underhill because I have that stupid Ring, remember?" There was a collective gasp in the room and everything became frightfully silent.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Can you take it out so my new friends can see it?"  
  
"Well.. Okay!" Frodo reached for his pocket, but his wrist was grabbed by a black-gloved hand. Frodo gasped and looked up to see who it was, and found himself being towered over by a tall, shaggy haired boy around the age of ten dressed in the dark-colored clothes of the Rangers.  
  
"I would suggest you leave your trinket in your pocket," the boy said.  
  
Frodo pouted. "Fine." The boy dragged Frodo up the stairs by his wrist (literally), the hobbit wailing every time he bumped against a step. Frodo's companions jumped up, grabbed their cloaks, and ran up after them.  
  
"You are the stupidest little short dude I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on," the boy said, annoyed.  
  
"Thanks," Frodo smiled, unable to define half of the words the boy used. "What's your name?"  
  
"Ara—Strider."  
  
"AraStrider, okay! My name is Frodo Baggins," this time it was Frodo who forgot his false name. Strider smacked his forehead.  
  
The door burst open, and Sam with the others tumbled in. "RAPE!" they were screaming.  
  
"Keep your hands off him, you child molester!" Sam shouted.  
  
Strider blinked. "You losers! Does this look like rape to you?!" Frodo was standing a good three feet away from him.  
  
"…ORAL RAPE!" Sam shouted.  
  
Strider smacked his forehead again.  
  
"That's AraStrider. He's nice," Frodo hugged Strider's legs, being too short to hug him properly. Strider tried to break free from the hobbit's death grip, but only managed to fall over.  
  
"I thought his name was only Strider, according to a big, fat, stinky kid who I talked to," Pippin said, confuzzled.  
  
"It IS," Strider growled, attempting to stand in vain.  
  
"Oh," the hobbits said in unison. Frodo let go of Strider and scampered over to the others.  
  
Strider got up and brushed himself off. "Of all the creatures to choose as a Ringbearer," he muttered angrily. He glanced over at the hobbits, only to find that Frodo was pulling the Ring on and off of his finger.  
  
"Now you see me," he put it on. "Now you don't." And he repeated the process. Pippin, Merry, and Sam watched in amazement as he vanished and reappeared.  
  
"I take my eyes off of you for TWO seconds, and look what happens!" Strider sighed heavily and walked over to Frodo, grabbing his wrists and holding them apart before Frodo could slip on the Ring again.  
  
Pippin poked Strider timidly. "Why did you take Frodo up here?"  
  
"So that he would not draw too much attention to himself, and then get found by the Enemy."  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know Gandalf the Grey, would you?" Merry inquired curiously, suspicious. This guy knew too much for his own good.  
  
"Yes, in fact, I do. That zit-faced git seems to be delayed, so it looks like it is up to me to baby sit you munchkins."  
  
"Yay, we're saved!" cried Pippin and Sam.  
  
Frodo was staring up at.. something. Strider and the other hobbits looked at him, then up at the ceiling to try and see what was so terribly interesting. After the silence was too much for Strider, he cried out, "What are you looking at?!"  
  
"The chapter title," Frodo replied plainly.  
  
"What?!"  
  
Frodo pointed. "It says 'Social Grooming'."  
  
"I repeat, wha—" Strider was cut off.  
  
"I think Merry has lice. Does that mean we have to pick it out?" Sam asked, looking quite nauseated.  
  
"You know what? The author is also a zit-faced git, and I do not give a flying rat's tail what the chapter title is!"  
  
Pippin had already started to rummage through Merry's curly hair. "Aww, but I almost caught one," he whined. "And I should like to see what a flying rat's tail would look like!"  
  
"You four, go to bed. I will keep watch for Nazgûl," Strider said, fed up with the young hobbits' ignorance.  
  
"Nazgûl?" Merry asked as he straightened his lice-free hair.  
  
"Servants of Sauron. They were once Men, but now they are neither living nor dead."  
  
"How incredibly uninteresting," Merry yawned.  
  
Strider stopped himself from, yet again, smacking his forehead. He would lose all sense by morning at this rate.  
  
  
  
"Where's Frodo?" asked Pippin as he jumped on the bed.  
  
Sam watched Pippin, waiting for when he'd miscalculate a jump and hit his head on the floor. Merry rolled his eyes and grabbed Pippin's ankle, causing him to fall over. "Frodo is, uh, changing into pajamas." Even as the words escaped his mouth, he didn't believe them anymore from when he heard them first from Frodo.  
  
Before any questions could be asked, Frodo opened the door and waddled, yes, waddled into the room. He was wearing a one-piece, woolen penguin suit. Little penguin footies, wings, and all.  
  
Strider glanced away from the window and saw Frodo. He stifled a laugh, and then turned his head away again. Not that he could see anything through the blurred glass, since it was raining. Silly Strider.  
  
Pippin rolled off the bed in laughter. Sam and Merry exchanged amused looks and snickered.  
  
"My mom made me pack it!" Frodo said in a pathetic attempt to save his already-shattered dignity.  
  
"Frodo, isn't your mother…?" Sam trailed off.  
  
"I mean, uh—Bilbo, no… It has sentimental value!" Frodo stomped over to the bed, plopped down in Pippin's vacant spot, and fell asleep.  
  
  
  
The next morning they stole—or borrowed without giving back, as Strider put it—a pony from some jerk named Bill Ferny. Sam immediately became emotionally attached to the beast of burden, because it was just so darn cute!  
  
"Shotgun!" Pippin called as he made a running jump onto the poor pony's back. Bill (Sam thought of the name, not I) gave a yelp of pain and surprise. But the yelp sounded more like a "moo" than anything else.  
  
"No, you ninny!" Merry cried, pulling Pippin off the pony's back. "It is going to carry or packs, not us!"  
  
"Aww," Pippin whimpered.  
  
"Let us get a move on," Strider said. "I wish to reach Weathertop by nightfall."  
  
"Weathertop," Sam and Frodo snickered. "What a stupid name."  
  
And so, Strider took hold of Bill's reins and started walking, not caring whether or not the hobbits were following or not. He would have liked it better if they had stayed behind in Bree, for he was confident that he could throw that stupid Ring into some stupid volcano without that stupid hobbit's help. At any rate, their journey had begun.  
  
  
  
Oh dear. Talk about a writer's block induced chapter. o.o Next one will be better, I promise! *grovels* 


	4. Mini Nazgul and Deadly Nail Filers

Lord of the Munchkins  
  
Chapter Three: Mini Nazgûl and Deadly Nail Filers  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my little cotton socks..  
  
  
  
"Hate my life. Hate my life. Hate my life," Strider muttered as he trudged out of a forested area and onto a rolling, grassy plain.  
  
"I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves and this is how it goes!" the hobbits sang. Strider lost count of how many times they had sang it around one million two hundred and forty-seven thousand five hundred and eight, so he came to the conclusion that they had continuously sang it for a really, really long time.  
  
"You stupid Halflings, listen up!" Strider halted. Bill almost knocked him down, unaware of his abrupt stop. The hobbits stopped and ceased singing, except for Pippin who kept humming the tune. "See that hilly stone thing over there?" he asked, pointing at it. The hobbits tilted their heads in various directions and stood up on their toes and tried to stand on each other to see. Even though it was in clear view.  
  
"Yes," they said finally.  
  
"That's Weathertop."  
  
Frodo sneezed and rubbed his nose. Sam busied himself with making a pile of dirt with his feet. Merry stared blankly at the old and worn down structure. Pippin started singing again.  
  
"Elbereth," Strider cursed and continued up the hill with Bill. The hobbits followed.  
  
  
  
Frodo was awakened from his dream in Happy Land to the sound of laughter and merriment just a few feet away from him. He rolled out of his cloak (which he used as a bed) and got up to see what was going on. He walked toward the firelight to find Sam, Pippin, and Merry cooking random foods.  
  
"Oh, hello, Frodo!" said Sam when he saw Frodo.  
  
"Fire is a chemical change," Frodo said in response. He heard something of that sort from Bilbo one time when he was rambling on about Smog and air pollution and how the world is biased and how Elrond shouldn't wear a toupee and keep denying it and then Frodo fell asleep before hearing anything else.  
  
The other three gave him a blank stare.  
  
"The wood is burning. Heat and light are given off. The wood is turned into ashes and smoke. Can I have some bacon?"  
  
Merry gave Frodo another blank stare, then handed him a strip of bacon. "One moment. You said the fire gives off light, yes?"  
  
Frodo nodded, his mouth full of bacon.  
  
"Then—the Black Riders—they could find us!" Merry exclaimed in panic.  
  
They peered over the ridge of stone to the ground. And sure enough, there were five short little Nazgûl on their shrunken steeds. Merry promptly stamped out the fire, and the hobbits drew their swords (the ones Strider had to stop at a gift shop to buy for them) and ran like decapitated headless chickens up some winding stairs and to the top of.. Weathertop. Top of Weathertop. Yes…  
  
They stood, huddled, in the center of the circular stone area. Their swords were held high and ready, their minds set for battle. They also wondered where the fook Strider was to save their tails.  
  
Finally, after five minutes, the Nazgûl came climbing and struggling up the sides of the structure, surrounding the poor, poor hobbits.  
  
Sam wet his pants. The Nazgûl advanced, and the hobbits ran in various directions.  
  
  
  
Somewhere on the ground on the opposite side of the stone structure (it needs a name that's something besides Weathertop, which it probably does have but I'm too lazy to look it up), Strider was sitting on the ground, attempting to pop a bulbous zit that was protruding from his nose. He had just about gotten it, when he heard the girlish screams of the young hobbits from above.  
  
"Great," he muttered, "they must have found a grasshopper or something." This notion was shot to the underworld when he heard another scream and the all-too-familiar high-pitched screech of a Nazgûl. Strider cursed like the potty-mouthed twelve year old he was and got up, grabbing his sword, as well as a torch.  
  
  
  
The tallest of the Nazgûl was closing in on Frodo. Being the clumsy oaf that he was, Frodo stumbled backward and landed on his little, kawaii hobbit tush.  
  
He started to feel the Ring's power overcome him, and he took it out of his vest pocket and slipped it onto his finger.  
  
"Stupid hobbit," hissed the Nazgûl (he has or had a name, but for our purposes we will call him Skippy.) From under his cloak, he produced a nail filer. No, not just ANY nail filer, but one of many psychedelic colors. Colors so wonderfully beautiful and flowery it made one want to gag themselves with a spoon.  
  
Frodo's vision was blurred because he was sleepy and the Ring just didn't like him, but he could view the nail filer well enough. He screamed and tried to stand.  
  
"Frodo!" Sam yelled. He was having a staring contest with one of the other Nazgûl, one we will call Scruffy. Scruffy jumped with joy, for the yelling Sam had done caused him to blink.  
  
Skippy was very offended about the scream—he was quite fond of his nail filer that was specially ordered by Sauron from his monthly magazine entitled "Evil Household Items". In his blind rage, he stabbed (or more like poked) Frodo in the forehead with his mighty, Morgul-y coated nail filer.  
  
Frodo wailed with pain and yanked the Ring off his finger. The poke would not have hurt so bad, if it was not for the papercut on his forehead that was inflicted when Pippin decided to fold a parchment up into a flying contraption that ended up crashing into his head in Bree. At any rate, the Morgul-ness of the nail filer was able to seep into the small wound and poison the poor widdle Ringbearer.  
  
It was then Strider arrived, yelling enough curse words to make even a sailor piss in his pants and run home to his mommy. He skillfully fought the Nazgûl, easily taking them out. If you ask me, I'd say he had too much fun watching them burn and screech in fury and terror and pain.. *shakes her head in disgrace*  
  
When the carnage was over, he joined the other hobbits who had gathered around Frodo. The poor thing was in some serious pain, enough to almost make Strider want to take pity on him. Almost.  
  
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul.. nail care item," Strider commented, examining the wound.  
  
"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked in his adorable little hobbit-like accent that just makes you want to hug him until his eyes bug out comically and he turns a funny shade of bluish purple.  
  
Sam started wailing. Frodo began to look very uncomfortable. Strider surpressed his desires to make the hobbits suffer and answered, "Not if we find help." Strider lifted Frodo off the stone floor and carried him off, beckoning the other hobbits to follow him. "Ready the pony, and make haste," he called back to them as the scrambled up behind him. "There is not much time."  
  
~~~~~  
  
Bum, bum, buuuuum! I wonder what will happen to our little hairy-footed hero? Stay tuned, folks! The next chapter won't take so long. x.x I hope.. 


End file.
